


Patience, Friend

by lorata



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Backstory, Dragons, Gen, Hatchlings, Yuletide, Yuletide 2014, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:45:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2778731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorata/pseuds/lorata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Volly! Good name, Volly? Good name, good dragon?” </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Yes,” James said, and laid his hand on his dragon’s head. "Good name, good dragon.” </i>
</p>
<p>No one pays much attention to Greyling hatchings, except of course the boys to whom they mean everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience, Friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winterhill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterhill/gifts).



> Treat for winterhill, Yuletide 2014.

“Wake up, boy, it’s hatching!”

James threw off the bedclothes and shoved his feet into his boots, tugging them on and hopping one-footed, nearly toppling over when his shins hit the side of the bed. He thrust his arms into his jacket sleeves, pulling the garment on over his nightshirt, and followed the runner out through the corridors and into the night.

The daily bustle of the covert had died down to the low hum of night, but as he raced toward the baths the sounds of activity drew nearer. A Greyling hatching was not the kind of news that caught the whole camp’s interest, but James didn’t care two shakes for what the others might think. It was his dragon — _his_ — and soon he would be not just an aviator but a captain.

He was led through into the hatchery, a high-ceilinged room with tall rafters and no windows. James scrubbed a hand through his hair, hoping that hatchlings did not care for their captain’s appearance as much as other humans might; he’d sprouted up since turning fourteen and still hadn’t quite learned to use his limbs, and he feared he’d never manage with his hair ever again.

Some dragons fussed over that sort of thing, sighing at their captains if they showed up with their neck-clothes out of place or their jacket buttons anything but freshly polished; James hoped his would not. It seemed an awful bother to worry about flying and carrying messages and all the other important things without extra fuss over whether he knew how to make a plait and bind it with loops of leather.

“It’s all right,” said Carter, the man in charge of the hatchings. “Sit down, take a breath. Everyone gets so excited as soon as it starts a-rocking, but truth is you’ll be a little while. Everything’s all ready, so just relax.”

“Not sure I can relax sir,” James said, though he tried to bend his legs under himself and sit properly instead of shaking. “It just feels like it’s been a very long time.”

“This one has taken a bit harder to mature,” Carter said, running one hand over the shell. “I think it was getting too comfortable inside, no real reason to come out so why bother. I had them not stoke the fire so high to see if that would tempt it, and looks like it has done, at least a little.”

“Is that bad?” James reached out a hand and laid his fingers against the shell, gently, hesitating before Carter nodded. He stroked the surface with the faintest touch, the surface dry and slightly pebbled and not like a hen’s egg at all. He’d half expected it to jolt him but nothing happened, and James let out a long breath.

“No, no, not in the least.” Carter tapped the shell with his knuckles, leaned in close, then made a small sound of satisfaction and sat back. “Some of them will do as they please and never mind His Majesty, but they always come round. It doesn’t mean anything about what they’ll be like once they’re out, no matter what anyone says. You have yourself a Greyling, which means it won’t be winning any contests for intelligence, but they’re good, solid beasts who love their captains, and that’s more than any boy could want.

The egg rocked, and James let out a cry and snatched his hand back. “Yes, that’s right, little one,” Carter said encouragingly, and he opened a barrel at his side. The scent of blood, hot and thick, filled James’ nostrils, and Carter indicated the fresh hunks of meat from a sheep that must have been butchered recently. “Come on out and eat. You’ve used up all your food inside, wouldn’t you like to come out and have something better?” He cast a glance at James and winked before covering the barrel again. “Come now, it’s your dragon, talk to it. You don’t want it looking to me as the first voice it hears, now do you?”

James sat down next to the egg, heart hammering in his chest. “Hello,” he said, feeling foolish, and he’d had lots of training as a courier and he knew how to handle a beast well enough, but they’d never told him what to say to one as it was coming out of the shell. “My name’s James. Or — well, Langford, my first name, but everyone keeps telling me that my name is twice as long as I am so I’ve always gone by James ever since I got here. Not all of us can be named John or Jeremy or Will, but I get by.”

Carter laughed, pressing his hand to the side of the egg in a clinical sort of fashion and tilting his head. “Langford is a very good name for a captain, but not so much for a boy,” he agreed, and James made a face. “Don’t worry, your dragon won’t know the difference.”

“My Pa brought me here when I was just a wee thing,” James said, half to the egg and half to Carter. “My Ma died and he didn’t like to look at me, though it took me a right few years to figure out that’s what it was. Now I’m grateful for it; how much worse would it be to moon about the house with someone who didn’t want to see you, anyway? The Corps has been my family same as it will be yours, and I think — well, that’s nice, isn’t it?”

James talked until his throat ran dry, and Carter signalled one of the runners by the door — at first peering eagerly into the room but soon yawning and edging off as though he wanted to slip out for a nap — to fetch them something to drink. James cradled the tankard between his hands and sipped slowly, watching the egg. “You sure everything’s all right?”

“It’s the first push what’s the hardest,” Carter reassured him. “Once they make the first crack they’ll start smelling the meat for real and then they’ll be raring to get at it, don’t you worry.”

James reached out again, then yelped and jerked back when a hairline fissure appeared in the side of the egg with a loud _crack_. “Not long now,” Carter said approvingly. “Now this is a courier dragon, and they tend to be energetic when they first hatch. We put them in these high rooms, the Greylings and the Winchesters, because they like to fly about a bit first before settling down to eat and harness. Don’t start worrying that you’ve missed your chance; once it gets a bit of that first enthusiasm out it’ll settle and come to you.”

The egg shivered, and the crack extended right down to the bottom, but nothing else happened. “Should I help?” James asked. Perhaps the dragonet was stuck — perhaps the egg’s shell was too thick, perhaps its little claws too small —

“Patience, patience,” Carter said with the air of a man who had told this to over-eager captains a hundred times and knew he would a hundred times again. “Hatching is a process, it ain’t like opening a door. It’s important for a dragonet to do this itself. If there’s trouble I’ll let you know and I’ll help it, but for now just wait.”

James shifted position, kneeling closer and talking to the egg. “You’ll like the other dragons,” he promised. “The couriers are a good lot, and their captains too. Mostly. And dispatch is a good job, I’ve been on runs with some of the older ones on practice and it’s nice, lots of travel and we’ll get to see the whole world. Some of the Greylings have been to Africa! I’d like to see Africa, I should think, wouldn’t you?”

At last the shell split and a talon pushed its way through the gap, slimy from the egg sack. “Leave it be,” Carter warned. “It’s important to let them break through the membrane on their own, helps protect them. Take it off too fast and you’re liable to have a beast what catches sick at everything.”

James obediently sat back, placing his hands firmly in the crooks of his knees. It took perhaps another hour — exhaustion pressed at the back of his eyes but the anticipation drove it mostly away — and at last the egg exploded outward and the dragonet burst free.

“Oh, he’s a beauty,” Carter said with approval, and James beamed. “No defects as far as I can see, either, though of course I’ll need to check a little bit later. Now just hang back and let it fly, and we’ll have you call it back with some food in a little bit.”

But the dragon didn’t fly. It shook off the last of the bits of shell stuck to its hide, snapped at the lingering shreds of membrane and gulped them back, then shuddered a few more times like a wet hound and took a few tottering steps forward, claws skittering against the floor.

“That’s right,” James said, glancing at Carter and trying to quell the flutter of nerves, but Carter didn’t seem worried. Maybe not all small dragons wished to fly so soon. “I’m sure everything is very strange, but it’s all right. You can look around anywhere you like, don’t worry, it’s all safe.”

The dragonet skittered forward again, head turning as it sought to locate the source of the voice. At last it latched on James, opening its milky blue eyes wide. “Safe?” it asked in a high, childlike tone.

“Safe,” James promised. “It’s only me and Carter here, and of course the meat for you to eat, and you may have as much as you like. Would you like to fly first?”

It took a minute to consider, falling back on its haunches and scratching at a damp patch on its leg. “Not now,” it said finally, with an air of satisfaction. “Meat now?”

With the larger dragons they tended to harness first and feed later, but Carter only nodded. James scrambled up to his feet and hurried over to wrest the lid of the barrel free. “This is sheep,” he said. Or was it mutton? Perhaps sheep only became mutton after cooking, but anyhow he’d only heard the dragons refer to it by the one term, and better not to confuse one so young. “It’s very delicious, or so I hear. It will make you good and strong, and you may have as much as you like.”

He lifted out a still-warm hunk of raw flesh, blood dripping down his fingers. James had not grown up in the countryside like some of the other boys, had never been present at the slaughtering of animals, and while he didn’t think himself squeamish, it was not the most pleasant experience. He set it down in front of the dragon as soon as possible and resisted the urge to wipe his hands clean on his trousers.

A few more moments of contemplation, then the dragon snapped forward and caught the meat up into its jaws, lifting its head back and swallowing several times until at last it sat back up. “Very good,” it declared, smacking its lips in a pleased fashion. “More?”

James lifted a few more handfuls out himself before the dragon got the hang of the barrel, and then it shoved its entire head up to the shoulders in the opening and ate with such wild, noisy gusto that James let out a startled laugh.

“There, see, he’s all right,” Carter said, chuckling himself. “I was worried at first when it wouldn’t fly, but I see no problems. “Now, once he’s had his fill, cover up the barrel and we’ll see if we can’t get a harness on him. Sometimes it takes the better part of an hour with these little ones because they’re so high energy, and we have to wait until they get hungry again and entice them with the promise of seconds after they take the harness, but we’ll see.”

After a time the dragon pulled back, smeared up to the eyebrow ridges with gore, and James couldn’t help laughing again. He took the cloths that Carter handed him and wiped the jaws clean, brushing smears of blood and afterbirth from the scales with careful strokes. The dragon’s eyes fell to half-lidded, and it collapsed into a heap with such speed that James nearly yelped.

“That’s nice,” the dragon said, stretching out its neck so James could reach the scales beneath its jaw. “Feels good. Happy.”

“I’m glad,” James said, and continued cleaning. Bit by bit the pale grey scales and mottled white markings became clear, the colour of a cloudy sky on a day when the sun fought to break through the clouds but couldn’t quite manage. “Once you’re all tidy I’d like to put a harness on you, and then we can speak for a bit and I can give you a name. Do you know about the harness?”

“Food?” the dragon asked hopefully, blinking and nosing its head against James’ leg.

James grinned. “No, not food. See how I’m wearing clothes?” He gestured to his trousers, impossibly stained by now, but no matter. “It’s like clothes. The harness is very nice, and it’s only yours. Each dragon has its own one and it’s very special. It’s a present for you from me and Mr. Carter.”

“Presents are nice,” said the dragon, rolling over onto its back for James to scrub at the white-patterned scales across its belly, though to James’ eyes it seemed clean enough. He had the suspicion that now the little dragon was merely hunting for a petting, like the tabby who lived in the barracks and kept the officer quarters rat-free in exchange for a few indulgences.

James finished wiping away the last of the muck, and he accepted the harness Carter handed him. He’d practiced putting a harness on some of the other couriers before, but they were used to the process and had been promised a whole sheep if they stood still and behaved while he fumbled with the buckles. He could hardly expect the same now.

Sure enough, the dragon backed away when James went to lift the harness over his head. “Oh,” it said, sounding startled. “Oh, what’s that?”

“It’s —“ They hadn’t named the parts of the harness to James, not in that detail, and he doubted it would matter to a nervous dragonet anyhow. “This will go over your head and hold the harness steady,” he said finally. “If it doesn’t go over your head it will fall off, you see, and it won’t be safe for me to ride.”

“Ride?” The big, pale eyes blinked again.

“Er, yes,” James said. “I’m going to ride you and be your captain, but I need the harness. I don’t want to fall off in the air, it wouldn’t be safe.”

The dragon studied him, head moving in a slow arc as it looked James head to toe. “Too big,” it declared after a moment, giving James a skeptical prod with one foreleg. “Big human, small dragon.”

“You’re only small now,” James promised. “You’ll get bigger, like an elephant. I — you don’t know what an elephant is, probably, but it’s big enough to ride, and I won’t try until you’re large enough. But you need to get used to the harness now, that’s all. It will feel better if you do.”

He lowered the harness and let the dragonet sniff at it, then laid it down so the beast could circle it like a suspicious cat. James didn’t look at Carter but somehow felt his amusement anyway; he suspected he might be behaving a little soft for a captain, but no point in rushing, was there? A dragon would wear a harness all its life; making it an upsetting experience right from the off would help no one.

“Not nasty?” the dragon asked finally, looking up at James with its eyes wide and trusting. “No hurt?”

“No,” James said, his voice softening. “No, of course not, it won’t hurt at all.”

The dragon pushed at the harness with its nose, then sat back. “More sheep?” it asked, looking crafty. “Sheep, then harness.”

James put his hands on his hips. “Harness, then sheep,” he said. If he was ever going to order his dragon to fly above a battle to check the troop movements and report on the numbers, he would have to learn to be firm. The older captains didn’t make James finish all his vegetables if he didn’t want to but they wouldn’t let him shirk his duties, either. Balance, they’d told him in training; find the balance that works for your dragon and you.

They stared at each other for a long while, and James raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, doing his best to imitate the other captains when their dragons gave them trouble. At last the dragon let out a snorting sound and shook its head. “Harness,” it said with a sigh, sounding only a little aggrieved and that mostly put-upon. “Then sheep.”

“Harness, then sheep,” James said, and slipped the leather over the dragon’s head. It took him some time to adjust everything properly — when he slipped the loop down and around the dragon’s girth it sucked in a whole belly-full of air just like a horse, and James had to give it a prod below the ribs to make it stop — but at last the dragon sat back, looking down at the straps and buckles that now lay flush against its scales. “There,” James said with satisfaction, and a thrill ran through him. “You’re my dragon now. And I’m your captain.”

The dragonet had pushed over the barrel again, but this time it sat back without diving in again. “Nice to meet you, Your Captain,” it said, shaking its shoulders and evidently feeling very pleased with itself. Someone must have taught it introductions through the shell.

James covered his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. “Oh, let’s try that again,” he said. “I’m — my name isn’t captain, that’s my job. My job is captain, your captain. My name is James.”

The dragon bobbed its head for a moment, thinking. “James?” it repeated, drawing out the ‘a’ in a questioning fashion. “Captain James?”

“Yes, that’s right,” James said encouragingly, stroking a hand down the dragon’s neck. Carter said that Greylings tended not to be as bright as some of the larger dragons, but it hardly mattered. “Captain James. And you are a dragon, but you don’t have a name yet. Would you like one?”

“Name?” The dragon scampered forward a few steps, butting its head against James’ side. “Yes, name! Nice name for nice dragon.”

“Nice name for a nice dragon, exactly,” James said, nodding. “Shall I give you one?”

“Yes!” The word came with another strong nudge that knocked him sideways, and James laughed delightedly. “Yes, yes, name! Please!”

He’d studied Latin for weeks, poring over his notes and the various conjugations and declinations and everything else, even though he hated it, trying to find something fitting. The combat breeds, particularly the heavyweights, tended to have the most ridiculous, pompous-sounding names, and James wouldn’t feel right giving one of those to a courier. At the same time, no reason why a small dragon shouldn’t have a fitting sort of name — they weren’t dogs or horses, after all, and the name should be an auspicious one — and so he’d scribbled out dozens of attempts before landing on the final choice.

“Volatilus,” James said, and the name hung in the air for a moment with a strange finality like the pealing of church bells in the early hours of the morning. He only hoped he’d conjugated correctly, but even if not, no one would know. This was his dragon, not a Latin test.

The dragon shook its head, jingling the harness. “Vola— Volalit — Volat —“ It huffed out a breath and clicked its claws against the floor.

“Volly,” James said quickly, cursing himself. “We can call you Volly. I have a long name, too, but everyone calls me by my short name because it’s easier to remember. How does that sound?”

“Volly,” the dragon said without difficulty, and James breathed in relief. “Volly! Good name, Volly? Good name, good dragon?”

“Yes,” James said, and laid his hand on his dragon’s head. Volly moved in close, stumbling over its own legs and falling rather heavier against his side than perhaps intended, but James kept his balance and draped one arm around its neck. “Good name, good dragon.”

Volly shook itself again, a full-body shiver of happiness that started at its head and went all the way down to a triumphant lash of its tail. “Now sheep?” it asked, tilting its head up and regarding James with big, mournful eyes.

James laughed aloud and reached for the barrel. “Yes, you rascal,” he said. “Now sheep."


End file.
